Face Your Oblivion
by oODazzyOo
Summary: Sam and Dean were raised by their father oblivious to the supernatural world. They believe their mother died in a house fire, and their dad is a mechanic with little luck keeping his job; that is, until a strange supernatural assassin appears…and he's after Sam and Dean Winchester. [ something of an AU, with eventual Destiel; T for language ]
1. Prologue

**November 2, 1994**

"Dad?"

John Winchester glanced up from his journal, slamming it shut, paranoid that Dean might catch even a slight glimpse of the pages and become intrigued with its contents. "What do you want, Dean?" His voice had a harsh edge to it, something Dean had become accustomed to since the night of his mom's death.

"How much longer are we going to stay here?" The question, despite often being that of a whiny six-year-old longing to leave a restaurant, was tinged with hope that maybe, just maybe, the Winchesters would finally be able to settle down in one place. They'd been here over a month now, John having found multiple subsequent cases to work on in the area. It was more logical that the boys remain in this constant spot, attending the same school for more than a week, while John drove a little ways longer to get information on these cases.

"I don't know. My boss isn't…uh, being very forgiving right now. I've been inefficient working. We might have to pack up pretty soon. Speaking of which, go help Sammy out packing up. Things aren't looking too good for this town anymore."

Go help Sammy. Not "go pack," referring to Dean himself, and helping out his little brother as well. Just Sammy. It wasn't as though Dean wouldn't take a bullet for his brother without hesitation - there was no doubt he would - but did his dad have to make his favouritism so obvious?

"Oh, and Dean?" The fifteen-year-old spun on his heel, eyes expectant.

"I've told you before…"

"Don't settle down, and don't make ties. No time for sentiment when we're on the move," Dean finished monotonously, his face taking on an expression that was very near mocking. John's gaze hardened on him, but he wasn't about to explode on him; not with Sam still awake, anyways.


	2. Chapter 1

**November 5, 1994**

"Do we have to go right now?" Sam was sitting up, eyes bleary and chin smudged with dry spit. His dad gave him one of his looks, one that expressed just how much he wanted to wring the life out of _something_, until he'd drained out all of the pent-up frustration that his sons were only adding to.

Dean glanced over from across the motel room, already forced to sweep aside his sleep deprivation so they could get on the road. His hair was a mess and exhaustion made his face look like it had been scorched in the depths of hell, but with their dad seeming so agitated that they leave, it had become nothing more than the ghost of a stupid idea to so much as think about how his hair looked.

"Dad, I have _friends_ here!" Sam whined. His expression took on that puppy-dog look, the one that seemed to grant him a better childhood than Dean had ever had, just for the fact it usually gave their dad a change of heart.

"When I say 'don't make friends', it goes for you as well as Dean." A firm expression was plastered to John's face; apparently, not even Sam's wide-eyed begging was changing him this time.

"Dad's right, Sammy," Dean muttered. He was so quiet, it was a miracle either of them heard him. "We need to go." _Even if I have no idea why_, he added to himself.

"See, Sammy? Dean knows. Now, let's get going. My next job might not last nearly long enough to send you guys to school. Probably just going to be a weekend thing."

Dean stared at his dad, obviously hurt. But what could he do? John was his dad, and there was no arguing with him. Well, no arguing from Dean, at any rate.

* * *

**April 10, 2012**

Sam Winchester hurried for his apartment, panic clawing at his throat. All he could think of was Jess's last voice message.

"Sammy, I might not be there when you get home. Don't panic..."

It cut off there, with a loud sound that was somewhere in between a screech and a loud ringing. He could hear glass shattering, even wincing himself and covering his ears at the high-pitched noise.

That was his reason for panicking, as he fumbled with his keys, messing up several times until finally he got the key in the lock and burst into his apartment.

It was like a tornado had swept the place. Shards of glass had flown every which-way, the wooden furniture was smashed, the sofas torn open by what was possibly a knife, which could only mean someone had tried to attack her - no, he couldn't think that way. Not now. And anyways, that lent the ringing sound absolutely no explanation.

Whatever little thread of hope he'd been clinging to slipped from his fingers when he ran through the bedroom door frame, the door itself having literally been ripped off its hinges and smashed to bits.

A scream ripped tore through his throat. He had no idea how long he'd been screaming before he finally ran out of breath, and tried to register the scene. A body - his girlfriend's body - lay bloodstained on the ground. It appeared she had been pierced through the heart by a knife, yet at the same time, the place where her eyes should have been was steaming and bloody. A sob escaped him, followed by another, until he broke down completely, shaking her. Then he heard footsteps.

Sam whirled around, glaring at the intruder. Maybe one of his neighbors had heard him. Whoever this guy was, Sam had never seen him before. He wore a suit and tie, with a trenchcoat slung over it, and he had obnoxious scruffy hair. Intense blue eyes glared at Sam, and it was only seconds until the blond noticed the silver-looking blade this guy was clutching, apparently with full intent to use it.

"Get out of my house!" yelled Sam.

"Not until my duty is complete," the other man replied coolly. His voice was gruff, and his eyes didn't lose their intensity for a second. It was then that it came to Sam that maybe, this guy was after him.

Panicking, he noticed a similar blade held in Jess's own hand. He had no time keep crying over her. All he could do was grab the blade and lash out at his attacker. Strange enough, the stranger went at him with his bare hands. A cut sliced deep through his palm; Sam could have sworn that the tip of the blade met a bone in his hand. At that point, a strange white light blossomed from the wound.

"How did you- well, only to be expected of a Winchester," the scruffy-haired stranger grunted. "No matter. I can go for the other one just as easily." Without warning, the stranger disappeared with a sound not unlike flapping wings.

The other one...

Sam stared at Jess's dead body. It was only then that he noticed the black feathered pattern sprawling across the ground from her back...almost like wings.

_The other one_.

Sam nearly choked on air. John Winchester had died quite some time ago. Neck broken at every single point where the spinal cord wasn't protected by bone, and a few spots where the bone itself had snapped. That meant...

"Dean!" Sam involuntarily shouted. He rushed for his car. Whoever had just attacked him was determined, that much was clear. Almost certainly out for Sam and Dean specifically. That meant his brother was in danger.

He couldn't let that happen. He'd already lost both his parents. Sam couldn't ever lose his brother.

* * *

_A/N: Oh gosh sorry for the month-late update. I've had really bad writer's block and I just barely finished. Anyways, I hope those of you that have actually read it like it so far. I still need to improve on this a lot, so __ reviews are always welcome._


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